


Small Cuts

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Hallucinations, M/M, Manipulation, Moderate burn, Mood Swings, OOC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possible Eventual Smut, This gonn be fucked up, Thought Reform, because slow burn is too slow, probably enough angst to drown the cast of Twilight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9438149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon was always good with people, knew how they ticked, what they think, what they want, but then he meets Dallon, someone who forces him to be the one to think. Of course, killers can never change, but other people can, regardless if they want to or not.





	1. Running

**Author's Note:**

> Hurray for shitty summaries!

**Tuesday, January Thirty-First, 2132**

 

The killer ran through the dark streets of Vegas and cursed, panting heavily as he shoved past people that were mildly annoyed by some random asshole shoving past them, but not because of the fact that that random asshole that had a white suit, covered in blood, and had a small patrol of police chasing him. _‘This wasn’t supposed to happen, those fuckers were waiting for me!’_

 

He continued running the streets and made a sharp turn, running into traffic, dodging cars and turned into an alleyway, sprinting to the other side of the large buildings, searching for an escape from the cops. A few blocks later, he saw a ridiculously tall man walking out of a music store and unlocked his car. A silver sedan. He quickly glanced behind him and saw that the cops were barely making it out the alley. A few thoughts ran through his mind, and he ran towards the man who just opened his car door.

 

With a final burst of energy, he vaulted over the car and opened the passenger door, pulling out a standard issue Glock and pointed it at the man’s head. “Fucking drive!” He yelled, stepping into the car, panting heavily.

The man looked alarmed, quickly looking over to see the blood covered psycho pointing a gun to his face.

“Are you fucking deaf? Drive!” He thumbed back the hammer to the Glock.

“W-where?” The other asked.

“Anywhere will fucking do, now drive,” he hissed.

The other timidly nodded and started up the car, pulling out of the driveway and into the road. He was half tempted to drop him off at the police station or crash into a tree or building, but that would’ve probably ended with a bullet in his head, or his face smashed in an airbag.

“Take me to your house,” he said, lowering the gun a bit.

“What? W-why?” the man asked, paranoid.

“Just do it,” he growled.

The other gripped the steering wheel tighter and exhaled, nodding slowly. _‘This is fucking crazy, why am I doing this?_ ’

“What’s your name?” The bloodied psycho asked.

The taller man glanced over. “D-James,” he choked out.

“You’re lying.”

“No, not really, it’s my middle name,” James whispered, tapping his finger on the steering wheel trying to calm his nerves.

“Oh, if that’s the case, I’m Boyd,” he smiled.

“Why are you asking?” James asked.

“Why not? I know you’re not going to do anything rash, you don’t seem the type, too soft, and cuddly, so you’re not going to snitch me out, and if you do, I can, and I will make your life a living hell for you, because I know how to torture someone to the point they break, all without killing you,” Boyd threatened in a low tone. “So! Nice to meet you!” Boyd gave a grin that James couldn’t really tell if it was genuine or murdery.

James let out a sigh and nodded, making a right into Alpine and Brush, pulling up to the apartments, parked the car and turned off the engine.

“Wow, I didn’t really think you’d bring me to your house, dangerous, wouldn’t you think?” Boyd asked, putting the gun back into the inside pocket and took off the suit jacket.

“Well I had a gun pointed at my face,” James muttered.

Boyd chuckled, “true, true.”

James walked up two flights of stairs with Boyd following like a lost, bloody puppy and unlocked the door, silently debating on closing the door on Boyd or shoving him down the metal steps and just call the police, saying that a psycho murderer hijacked his car and forced him to drive, but that probably wouldn’t go too well, saying that said psycho murderer had a gun, and probably a lot of heads under his belt.

“Going to let me in?” Boyd smiled, cocking his head to the side and gave a sickly sweet smile.

James sighed and stepped aside, holding the door open.

“Thanks,” he looked around. “Seems cozy, not too small, so you must have a family, where are they?” Boyd asked.

 _‘Inconsiderate ass.’_ “Utah, vacation,” James said, closing the door.

“Really? How long?”

“A month.”

Boyd nodded. “So, why don’t we get to know each other a bit?”

“I know you’re insane, and possibly a killer, what else would I need to know?” James asked.

Boyd chuckled. “Aww, you still don’t trust me?”

“Is there a reason that I should?”

Boyd shrugged. “A few, I won't kill you yet, I can protect you, and you’ll be giving me a place to stay, until my business here is done,” he said, looking around the house and took a seat on the couch, draping the white, blood covered suit jacket over the arm of the couch.

James narrowed his eyes and scoffed. “Really? Protect from what? And what happens when my family comes back?”

“Cops, what else? You stupidly helped me, they’re bound to be after you now. Traffic cams, they exist, and I’ll be gone by the time they come back, but until then, you’re my new roomie!” Boyd threw his arms into the air and laughed.

“This is my house.”

Boyd let his arms drop onto the couch and looked up at James, frowning. Tall, long ass legs, about six foot three or four, clearly a family person, still seems soft and cuddly, and a nice face. A really nice face. Boyd could tell he was unnerving James with his staring, so he stared harder.

James shifted his weight onto his left leg and studied Boyd. His hair was disheveled, from running for who knows how long, wrinkled white slacks and a black dress shirt. Probably came from a party or something, killed someone, got caught and ran.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Boyd asked.

James blinked and pointed to the general location of his bathroom. Boyd rocked off the couch, taking the jacket with him, and lightly slapped James’ arm.

“Thanks! Oh, and I trust you won’t call the cops?”

James took a deep breath and shook his head.

Boyd grinned. “Good,” he said cheerfully. Because my threat still stands,” he said quietly. Surprising how someone could flip between emotions so quickly.

James scoffed and sat down on the couch, placing his head in his hands. _‘What the hell did I get myself into?’_

 

* * *

 

 

He heard the shower running after a minute and groaned, turning on the television and flipped through the channels, landing on a news channel when there was nothing interesting.

“Eyewitnesses say that a man in a bloody white suit was last seen running out of the Stratosphere Casino, towards a music shop, who had killed casino owner, Julio Morova. The police have compiled a rough sketch of the suspect, whom investigators have dubbed, the Angel of Death,” the news lady said, showing a sketch on the screen that looked nothing like Boyd.

If he ran from a casino with loads of security cameras, and none picked up his face, then he's more careful than he first let on, but this worried James more, as he was actually harboring a fugitive, and _killer_ , although that was already kind of a given.

 

* * *

 

 

The shower turned off after the news lady moved onto something about bees and climate change, and Boyd stepped out the bathroom with a towel around his waist. “You have any clothes?” Boyd called out.

James sighed and lead him into one of the spare rooms, opening a drawer and pulled out some old band shirts and a pair of sweats, handing them to Boyd.

“You're so sweet,” Boyd thanked, walking out the room.

James noticed the intricate web of scars across Boyd’s back, some old, some new. Most were cuts, but there were a few of what seemed like bullet holes, on his shoulder, the left side of his lower back, and under his ribcage on the right side. James pulled his eyes away from Boyd’s back and walked back out to the living area.

“News is calling me the “Angel of Death,” what do you think?” Boyd said, using air quotes and pulled a stupid voice and face.

“Seems accurate,” James muttered.

Boyd gasped. “James! Are you calling me an angel?! Is it because I have a nice face?”

James shook his head. “Quite the opposite, angels of death are usually quite hideous.”

Boyd made a loud offended noise. “How fucking dare you?!”

James shrugged.

Boyd let out a small hum.

“Well, at least you have a sense of humor, that, I can appreciate.”

“You have no appreciation for human life,” James blurted out before he can stop himself and mentally kicked himself in the balls.

Boyd’s expression turned dark. “I kill those people for a reason! Because they deserve it. Sleazebags like them don't deserve to live.”

James didn't say anything else, about how hypocritical Boyd was being, or how he just wanted to implode out of existence.

He turned around and walked into his room, closing and locking the door. James wasn't going to take his chances with a psycho, hypocritical murderer in his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always write everything when I'm really tired, I don't know why I just do. If you see any mistakes, don't be afraid to tell me.  
> If you have any ideas you'd like to pitch, contact my tumblr, @precious-tool


	2. Sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just think of "Boyd" observing things and keeping track of things as Sherlock's magical CGI floaty letter note things.

**Wednesday, February First, 0915**

**Boyd**

 

Boyd must have fallen asleep on the couch after James ditched him, as he woke up with a stiff neck and a sore arm. He shifted over onto his back and sat up, bringing his arms over his head, leaned back and stretched, popping his back in a few places. Boyd sighed in content, got off the couch, and made his way into the bathroom.

 

He flicked on the light stared at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror and furrowed his brows, studying his reflection. Boyd realized a slight misplacement on the ceiling, a square panel that looked like it was patched over, almost professionally. He would've never known if he wasn’t staring at his own face hard enough and just happened to look at the reflection of the ceiling.

 

He pulled his gaze away from the mirror and turned on the tap, cupping some of the lukewarm water in his hands and washed his face. He then turned off the flow of water and ran his hands through his hair, roughly grooming the messed up locks, and decided to explore a bit. Boyd had respected James’ privacy enough yesterday, now to find out every little secret.

 

Boyd shoulder checked the door, closing it about half way and opened the medicine cabinet, studying the contents; hair spray, hair ties, bobby pins, razors, and standard medicine as well as prescriptions. Nothing too unusual. He turned the two orange bottles around, looking at the labels, Ativan and Fluoxetine. Medications for anxiety and depression. And judging by the thin layer of dust on the white caps, they haven't been touched in a little while.

 

A door opened and Boyd quickly and silently shut the cabinet door and speed walked out the bathroom, slapping the light switch down on his way out, and turned into a random open room. Boyd heard James yawn and walk into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

 

 

The shower turned on after a few seconds and Boyd knew he had enough time to explore some more, starting with the room he was in. The walls were a shade of white, eggshell, or cream or something like that. Boyd could never really tell the exact different shades, never thought he needed to.

There were soundproof panels leaning against the walls, and four bass guitars, all on stands. There were three electric, one red, one white and orange, the other white and black. The fourth bass was just a standard acoustic.

Next to a small table near the center of the room was one chair. Resting on it was a ukulele and Boyd let out a little chuckle. _‘Aspiring musician?’_ Boyd made a mental note.

Such a giant man playing a tiny instrument just seemed amusing, or adorable.

The table had a small metal box which was unlocked, and Boyd opened the top. Picks. Guitar picks, and lots of them.

 

Boyd looked around the room a bit more and saw an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall by the door, seemingly abandoned. It wasn't the standard color of tan, maple, or oak with the black tear-drop like design. The colors were inverted and seemed way darker, more dark than usual, still the same wood, it just looked darker. The neck of the guitar was white, a stark contrast from the jet black fingerboard.

 

Boyd seemed drawn to the guitar, so he walked over and picked it up, muscle memory aiding him in holding it the correct way, as he instinctively strummed the strings.

Out of tune.

Not by a lot, but just enough to make it sound off. His hands moved towards the pegs and tightened them, and he strummed the strings simultaneously. The process repeated until the guitar was properly tuned, or at least close to it. Boyd took out one of the picks from the box, one that was white with black swirly patterns on both sides. He aimlessly pressed his fingers down on the strings, using the pick to pluck the strings.

  


Soon enough, he started playing a song, muscle memory doing the majority of the work, while he hummed along to a phantom tune echoing in the back of his mind. Boyd opened his mouth and exhaled. Subconsciously he must've started singing. “You fool me once with your eyes now, honey, you fool me twice with your lies and I say Sarah smiles like Sarah doesn't care.”

 

* * *

  


James turned shower turned off and shook the water from his hair, droplets scattering everywhere. He pulled back the shower curtain, stepped out of the shower and pulled off the towel that Boyd didn't use and quickly pat himself dry. He put on his work clothes that he brought with him, and hung up the towel, got a smaller one and started drying his hair a bit more. He stepped out of the bathroom and stopped, hearing the sound of faint singing and guitar. It came from his sad excuse of a music room. James walked over and stood next to the door frame, back against the wall. He hates to admit it, but Boyd has a nice voice.

 

James listened to the remainder of the song, which Boyd had ended on a sad mantra of “Sarah.”

 

“Enjoy the show?” Boyd asked.

 

James sighed and stepped into the room. “I didn't see anything.”

 

“But you heard,” Boyd sassed.

 

James hummed. He decided to take the risk. “Who's Sarah?”

 

Boyd looked up at James and laid the guitar down on the floor, fingers juggling the pick. “Someone I loved. Someone I thought I could trust,” he whispered.

 

James wouldn't have heard it if he didn't try to listen. “Oh, sorry I asked.”

 

Boyd scoffed. “Don't pity me, James. So where you goin'?” Boyd changed the subject and James didn't question it.

 

“Work,” James simply responded.

 

“Ah. You going to give me a key?” Boyd teased.

 

“If you lock yourself out, I'm sure you'll find a way to break in. Just don't actually break anything,” James told him.

 

Boyd raised an eyebrow. “You want me to stay? You want me back?”

 

“Truthfully? No, not really, but I know you're not going to leave me alone.”

 

Boyd laughed. “True. Have fun at whatever it is you do.”

 

James didn't say anything as he turned and left the room, leaving Boyd alone.

 

 

* * *

 **0919**  


 

It was barely five minutes after James left the house and Boyd was already bored out of his mind. In those five minutes, he picked the lock to James’ room and looked through his and his most likely wife's stuff, just clothes, undergarments, pictures, and an alarming amount of makeup. To be completely honest, Boyd was kind of disappointing he didn't find a dildo or something else remotely kinky. Then again, he had two kids, if the copious amounts of pictures were anything to go by.

 

He couldn't find any legal documents, but he did find a safe under the bed that Boyd didn't want to spend the time unlocking. Yet.

 

Boyd sat down on their bed after stealing a couple of James’ graphic t-shirts, skinny jeans, and a Doctor Who hoodie. Boyd quietly laughed. _‘Nerd.’_

 

They didn't really fit as James was several inches taller, but Boyd could deal with it for a few days. He quickly changed into a Crossbones tee, the hoodie and the darkest pair of skinny jeans he found, and got off the bed, deciding to go on an adventure. He looked a bit ridiculous as the shirt and hoodie were too long, as well and the jeans. So much so that they just kind of scrunched up. He probably would've had better luck with James’ wife's jeans, but decided against it because they didn't have pockets.

 

Boyd found a coat closet next to the television and searched for some shoes that might fit, and found a well-worn pair of black converse that looked his size and said fuck it. They were a little too big, as was everything else he had on, but he could deal with it. Before he left, he grabbed his trusty balisong and a few lockpicks from his suit jacket and left the apartment.

 

 

* * *

  **1232**

 

 

It took a while for Boyd to reach the street he wanted to be at. Vegas residents were assholes and the standard douchey, white American that had a little too much testosterone for their own good. Boyd was partially at fault, taking an hour longer than it should've taken to walk to the store. He came across the music store that James left last night, and spotted the familiar silver sedan parked a bit further down. Granted, this was America, a million other people probably had the same sedan, but Boyd decided to risk it.

  


He opened the door the music store and walked in, seeing walls of various guitars, electric, acoustic, woodwinds and brass, and a few drum sets stacked on top of each other, keyboards, amplifiers as well as racks filled with CDs and music related magazines.

 

“Hello, how can I help you?” A man with a surprisingly high voice asked. Boyd turned and looked at the man at the counter. They were roughly the same height, their hair was recovering from a buzz cut, and he had three black bands tattooed on his left arm. His name tag read “Tyler.”

 

“Yeah, a friend recommended me to this store, they said to ask for ‘the tall one,’” Boyd bullshitted.

 

Tyler smiled. “They must have meant Dallon, I'll go get him!” Tyler ran off to the back room and emerged shortly with a confused James following. Boyd grinned. _‘Jackpot.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to replicate some of Dallon's real house (from what I can tell from pictures and vines) and implement them into his apartment complex in this story, so that's the reference to the ceiling, where there's a photo in Dal's Instagram where there's a hole in his ceiling from repairing a leaky pipe. (https://www.instagram.com/p/BOIkvncgAxi/)
> 
> As a little FYI, the majority of these chapters are probably going to be written at night for me, so there might be some mistakes or things that might not really make sense. If you find any mistakes, feel free to tell ^-^


	3. Prayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some stuff to the last couple paragraphs in the last chapter because I made the store sound a little TOO much like Guitar Center (it's not, it's a different store, it's called Sam Ash Music Store. (It's real)) 
> 
> Also, important notes in the end that are entirely your choice to read :)

**Wednesday, February First, 1200**

**James**

 

James was in the back room with one of his friends, checking the inventory and tuning some of the instruments.

 

He had a clipboard in his hand and was writing down some notes on the paper while listening to one of his Co-workers and friend, Josh, who was playing one of the drum sets like bongos.

 

“Hey, dad?” The other worker and friend, Tyler called out, walking to the two of them.

“Yeah?” James asked. He's given up trying to get them to stop calling him 'dad' a long time ago.

“Someone asked for you,” Tyler said.

James blinked. “Alright.” He placed the clipboard on Josh’s head and followed Tyler out to the front to whoever “asked” for him.

 

So James followed Tyler out to the main store, straight to Boyd who was grinning like a madman. _“Fuck,’_ James thought. “Why don’t you go ‘round back, I got this,” James told Tyler.

Tyler gave a shit eating grin. “You sure Dallon?”

James sighed and nodded.

“Alright,” he said in a sing-songy tune and skipped back to the warehouse.

“Why are you here?” James for straight to the point.

Boyd shrugged. “Well, Dallon, the way Boyd said his name just made him cringe, “I got bored so I decided to visit. Your friend there told me your name.”

James scoffed. _‘So much for trying to keep my name a secret. Thanks, Tyler.’_ “Are you wearing my clothes?” Dallon asked.

“I didn’t have anything else, the clothes you gave me were dull, and not really acceptable for the outdoors and social situations,” Boyd said.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually run off, or raid my workplace.”

“I didn’t raid anything! And you work in a music store for fuck's sake.”  
“And I’m sure being a contracted killer pays more,” Dallon said, weary of his volume.

“Actually, it does,” Boyd said.

“I wouldn’t know.”  
“Anyway, how are you so calm about this? You know what I’m capable of, or at least should know,” Boyd asked.

“I’ve had a lot of practice containing my nerves from different situations,” Dallon said. Wasn’t a complete lie.

Boyd thought back to the anxiety pills he found in Dallon’s medicine cabinet and hummed.

“For real, why are you here?”

“For real, I was bored.”

“Why don't you go somewhere else?”

“Do you hate me or something?”

“That's a logical assumption.”

Boyd frowned. Dallon knew he shouldn't piss off Boyd too much, but Dallon had his own life. He didn't want it getting mixed in with whatever Boyd does at night.

“Alright then, I'll leave. I'm late for an appointment anyway,” Boyd said. Dallon didn't question him as he left the shop.

 

The second the door closed, Tyler and Josh came running out of the back room, Josh jumped up on Dallon’s back.

“Who was that? You seem close,” Tyler asked.

“He's a dick and a psycho,” Dallon responded.

Josh hummed. “Well, you must know him pretty well if you think that.”

“He's cute, though,” Tyler pointed out.

Josh made a sad noise and Tyler faltered. “Not as cute as you Josh!”

Dallon chuckled. “You're both so childish.”

 

* * *

**1422**

 

Boyd left the store fuming and started heading over to his specified location. _‘Motherfucker should be glad I haven't killed him yet. Why haven't I?’_ He asked himself.

A little voice in the back of his head spoke up. ‘ **Because he has a nice face.’**

Boyd stopped in his tracks, pedestrians bumped into him and made squawks of displeasure. _‘Shut the fuck up.’_

 

Boyd managed to hail a cab on the first few tries and told the driver to take him to the nearest tacky handbag store and bought a pair of leather gloves before going back and told the driver to go to Guardian Angel Cathedral.

 

* * *

 **1251**  

 

Boyd didn't go to the cathedral to pray, he was there for a target, one of the regulars or the head priest, Boyd forgot. A religious freak, not for God, but for Satan. They find people who suffer from something or other and promise redemption or whatever, would lead them down the black road of blood, suffering, and Satan. If their target freaks out or refuses, then they'll kill them send them to hell where Satan's huge red cock would fuck them into a demon, or whatever happened next. Boyd didn't really pay attention during the ten-minute briefing, he got too bored.

 

Boyd got out of the cab and paid the fair, leaving his change. He stepped up to the cathedral and felt his skin crawl. _‘This place is too pure for me.’_ Boyd saw a large painting of God and Angels on the light blue wall outside, and opened the large doors and looked inside. There were large stained glass murals on the triangular sloped ceiling, on the furthest wall was a large painting of something religious. Boyd repressed a shiver and took a seat in one of the pews.

 

* * *

**1458**

 

A few minutes later, the target walking through the doors. Your classic well dressed, swanky guy, slicked back brown hair, tan slacks, and a white button-up. He made his to the stand and tapped the mic. “I welcome all you here today,” he said, gesturing to all five people in the cathedral.

Boyd drummed his fingers against his knee.

“If you are here, then you have received the chance to become more than human, to be greater, in God’s eyes! Now come, gather round,” he said. The four strangers stood up and surrounded him on the stand while Boyd took his time. **‘Witnesses.’**

_‘I know.’_

“Now, let us transcend!”

_‘Kill me.’_

**'Later.'**

 

* * *

**1510**

 

After the clearly satanic ritual, the other four left but Boyd stayed behind. There were no cameras or anything so he was safe. He pulled on the leather gloves and took out the silver balisong, silently flipping it open while the target had his back turned.

Boyd slowly exhaled and he raised his right arm over to his left shoulder, clutching the knife tightly like a dagger, his heart rate, and adrenaline spiking. The target stopped what he was doing and tried to discreetly look behind him, but Boyd knew what he was up to. He knew all the tricks.

The second the target turned around, the sharp blade was jammed into his neck and pulled back out. Blood poured from the wound as the target clutched his neck, falling to the ground, suffocating and bleeding out. Boyd leaned down and wiped the blade on the man's blood-stained shirt and swiped his gold necklace, before leaving the cathedral, not looking back. Boyd smiled. The kill wasn't as messy as he'd like, but regardless, a kill was a kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to have Tyler and Jish call Dal 'dad' because he's basically like a dad to everyone (it's not a kinky thing, I swear)
> 
> The bold text can basically be conceived as a version of Tyler's Blurryface, and I've got a few ideas for him. 
> 
> All of the locations that are mentioned/going to be mentioned are real (unless there isn't something that I want). Since I know nothing about Vegas (because I've lived in Colorado my whole life) I'm relying on Google Maps and the images provided by Google as references.  
> (And the run from the casino to the music store in the first chapter would have been about 10-20 minutes instead of like 5 so yeah.)


	4. Sarah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Le gasp* Two chapters in a day! See how much I love you guys?

**Thursday, February First, 0900**

**Kenny**

 

“Kenny,” Zack called out as the other was passing his office. Kenny stopped and poked his head through the open door. Zack made the gesture to come in and Kenny stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. “Yes, sir?” Kenny asked.

“There’s been another murder,” Zack said, feeling guilty when he saw the remaining light drain from Kenny’s eyes. “I know you want to be in this case, but you need to rest.”

“You know why I can’t,” Kenny stated, dragging his hands down his face.

“I know, he killed your mother, but you’re going to wither away to nothing if you keep going on like this,” Zack told him.

Kenny shook his head. “Where did it happen?”

Zack stood up and grabbed his keys and badge. “Guardian Angel Cathedral, Vegas.”  
“Oh fuck. So is it a Satanic thing?”   
“Don’t know. That’s why we’re going over to Vegas to find out, and see if we can catch him. Already got approval from above to stay a few months,” Zack said, “so road trip!”

“Yay…” Kenny said unenthusiastically.

  
  


* * *

  **1454**

 

By the time the duo got to the crime scene, the police were almost done investigating and interviewing. Zack and Kenny flashed their badges and they were let through by the officer guarding the flimsy crime scene tape, and they stepped inside the cathedral. “Who’re you guys?” One of the detectives asked.

The two showed their badges again. “Agent Hall and my colleague, Agent Harris.”

The detective scoffed. “What’re the Feds doing in my crime scene?”

“The killer was originally from LA, so we moved here to try to find him,” Zack explained.

“Really? Your killer got a MO?”

Kenny spoke up. “Anything from simple stabbings or slashing someone to ribbons. If it’s a pointless happy murder, then the bloodier the better, but if it was a paid kill or something with purpose, then they’re smaller wounds, less to deal with.”

“So we’re dealing with a serial killer who kills for shits and giggles and money?” Great,” the detective groaned. “Well if you guys are volunteering to help, then I’ll be glad to hand over some of the weight. Take a look ‘round, tell us what else you can find,” the detective said.

 

Kenny nodded and went ahead. They still haven’t moved the body so that was good. He was weary of the blood pooled on the reflective tile and crouched down, analyzing the body. There was a single knife wound on the left jugular, clean, and deep. Part of the skin was shredded, so that hinted at a serrated blade, or partially serrated. Kenny stood back up, seeing abnormal red marks on the right side of man’s shirt.

_‘The killer wiped the blood off their knife there. Must be important, something valuable to them.’_

He walked up the step and towards the stand, looking over the cathedral. He stepped back and heard a small creak underneath him, and reapplied the pressure. Another creak. He knelt down again and knocked on the planks.

_‘Hollow.’_

“Find anything we don’t know?” The detective asked.

Kenny stood up and looked up at the detective. “The knife had to be sharp, the hit was precise and strong, but there’s some torn skin on the wound, so the knife had to be serrated. On the topic of the knife, the killer wiped the blood off on his shirt, the blood just doesn’t make sense if he fell on his front and got stabbed on his left, and the knife must be important if he decided to wipe the blood, it just didn't want it trailing everywhere. Also, this is hollow,” Kenny tapped the wood with his foot.

The detective seemed impressed. “Nice job, we’ll get someone to tear up those planks.”  
Zack laughed and lightly slapped Kenny on the back. “He doesn’t need your approval, he’s the best damn visualist on the squad.”

Kenny smiled sheepishly.

“Well, why don’t you two get to a hotel, when we tear this up we’ll tell you what’s underneath.”

The duo nodded and left the cathedral, happy to leave another dead body and room smelling of copper.

 

 

* * *

 **1622**  


 

“Hey, Kenny!” Zack yelled, looking up from his laptop in the hotel room in Silver Sevens Hotel and Casino.

“Yeah?” Kenny yelled from the bathroom, shutting off the shower.   
“Get your ass out here! I found something!” Zack yelled.

Zack could hear a groan from inside the bathroom, and Kenny emerged with a towel around his waist, looking rather annoyed. “What?” He hissed.   
“So like seven or eight years ago, you remember one of our people being assigned to investigate three guys?” Zack asked,

“Vaguely, why?”

“Turns out she’s alive, but the three people she was investigating are either missing or dead,” Zack explained.

Kenny seemed interested now. “Really? What was her name?”

“Sarah O-O-” Zack faltered and squinted at the computer screen. “Orzechowski? She was assigned to investigate a Spencer Smith, Brendon Urie, and Jon Walker.”

“You know where she is?” Kenny asked.

Zack winced. “Mental asylum?”

“No!” Kenny yelled. “Fuck dammit!”  
“What?!”

“If she’s in an asylum then her information isn’t reliable!” Kenny yelled.   
“Hey! It’s better than what we have now, which is nothing!” Zack retorted and took a deep breath, looking something up on his laptop. “Well, time for another road trip!”

Kenny made a loud groan.

“Good news, I just Googled it and it’s like twenty minutes away,” Zack laughed.

“Really? Isn’t that dangerous?” Kenny asked.

“Well they aren’t the absolute psycho murderers, they’re more tame mental issues.”

“Oh. Let's get some food on the way there, I'm starving.”

“Oh my god! Same!”

 

 

* * *

 **1440**  


 

They got Taco Bell and ate in their car on the drive to the asylum, Rawson-Neal Psychiatric Hospital. They parked the car and made their way inside, throwing the paper bags away in the trash cans outside. The receptionist noticed them and gave a wide and possibly fake smile. “Hello, how can I help you two?” She asked.  Her name tag read “Laura.”

“Yes, we're here to see a Sarah Orzechowski,” Zack said, probably butchering the name.  

Laura looked surprised. “May I ask why?”

“We're on a case, and one of the suspects had been connected with Sarah,” Zack lied, showing his badge. Laura nodded and lead them to Sarah's room.

 

The room was nice, tan walls and tiles, nicely decorated with plants and paintings, with various chairs around the perimeter and a bed by the windows.

“Who are you?” A woman asked. She had long, wavy black hair and looks as if she hasn't slept for quite some time.

The two glanced at each other and showed her their badges. “We're sorry to bother you, but we have some questions about an assignment you were sent on,” Kenny said, weary.

“I'm not made of glass,” she said, sitting down on her bed. She gestured to some nearby chairs and the two took a seat. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you can tell us,” Kenny said.

Sarah nodded. “Well if you're here for the case you might know I was assigned to investigate Spencer Smith, Brendon Urie, and Jon Walker. Spencer and Jon were clear, but it was Brendon that had the issues.”

“Can you be more specific?” Zack asked.

She took a breath and starts to fiddle with her hands. “At first, Brendon was fine, innocent, caring, adorable even. Would buy you the most unnecessary things, but when I got to know him better, he changed, started to get more aggressive and abusive, and tried to get me to kill people,” she started and huffed out a laugh. “Fuck, I actually did it. That motherfucker got me to turn against my cause. I don't know how, but he did. He probably knew I was investigating him or something and used that against me, had me lie about everything that happened between me and him.”

“What about the others?” Zack asked.

“Dead. Brendon killed them and threw their bodies off the Grand Canyon, then tried to kill me a few days later,” Sarah said.

“We're you the first?” Kenny asked. “If he's that manipulative then there must've been more before you.”

“There's only one I know about, he told me when he was drunk or high. Or both. June sixth, 2009, Cape Town, one Ryan Ross was murdered, slashed to ribbons in a hotel room. According to Brendon, ‘he couldn't handle him anymore’ and killed Ryan.”

“Is there anything else?” Zack asked.

“Brendon has always had a weakness for pretty faces, and _stay away_ from him, he will tear you apart from the inside out,” Sarah warned.

The two nodded, but they were in too deep now, quitting would be a shame.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH SARAH!! I'd just like to say before you hate me, I don't have anything against Sarah or Ryan, I love them both, but for the story to work (and for angst) one of them had to die... (I'm sorrryyy) 
> 
> I'm not making Dal call Boyd, Brendon (or (me) refer to him as Bren,) because Dal doesn't know yet.
> 
> If you have any ideas that you'd like to pitch, message me on Tumblr, @precious-tool


	5. Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm back with another chapter

****

**Thursday February Second, 1843**

****Kenny** **

 

“Got more out of that than I thought we would,” Kenny sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah. Fuckin’ hell, this Brendon seems like a total maniac,” Zack agreed.

Kenny hummed. “I'll search him up on the drive back.”

Zack nodded and handed Kenny his laptop and got in the car.

  


“So Brendon Urie, was a straight A student, was in a short-lived band, troublesome and got into fights and got arrested multiple times for possession of marijuana, had overly religious parents, and hasn't committed any crimes after the age of eighteen. In fact, there's nothing like he just dropped off the face of the earth,” Kenny told Zack what he found.

“Any pictures?”

“Only the one from eighteen years ago.”

“Fuck, search up that Ryan kid,” Zack told Kenny.

Kenny typed in the name and read off the screen. “He's a B and C student, done nothing bad other than a speeding ticket and overdue library books. And Ross was killed in a hotel room on June sixth, 2009 in Cape Town, but it seems someone is using his information.”

“How so?”

“Like credit cards and bank accounts under his name are being used.”

“Well, we now have another lead. Let's get a squad to search the Grand Canyon.”

Kenny looked over to Zack. “The whole Canyon? It's been _years_ , Zack.”

The other sighed. “I know. Tomorrow we'll ask her exactly where.”

“Alright.”

 

* * *

**Thursday, February Second, 1251**

**Boyd**

 

After Boyd killed his target and met up with the contractor picking up his payment. He didn’t know when Dallon would be home so, he decided to buy some clothes at a mall south of the cathedral and picked up anything ranging from plain t-shirts to graphic, hoodies, jeans and sweats, random assorted shoes as well as socks, and undergarments, to the tackiest, ugliest piece of shit sparkly gold suit he found, and just _had_ to have it.

Boyd shoved all his stuff into the shopping cart and wheeled it over to one of the glass jewelry cases. He scanned the various cases and came across a silver military style watch.

**‘Get it.’**

The sales associate for the jewelry section came over. “Anything I can help you with?” He asked.

“Hi, how much is this watch?” Boyd pointed through the glass. The price tag was in clear view and Boyd can read, he just wanted to annoy the worker. It worked, the worker gave him the ‘bitch, really?’ look.

“That watch is five hundred.”

Boyd nodded and smiled innocently, crying and screaming on the inside. “I'll take it.”

 

He bought the watch and shoved the black box into the hoodie pocket and pushed the cart over to the checkout line.

 

Two minutes later Boyd reached the checkout and dumped his items on the counter. The cashier tried to cover a small wince and continued on helping with a noticeably fake smile. Boyd returned the fake smile and feigned innocence.

 

It took a while for the single cashier to scan and bag all the items. She left the sparkling monstrosity of a suit on the hanger and just put a bag over it, handing the five bags over to Boyd and told him the grand total of a thousand three hundred and five. Boys swiped his (fake) credit card, picked up his bags, and walked through the doors he Sparta kicked open.

 

Boyd thought about his options, walk and look like a white girl, taking about two hours to get to Dallon's apartment or one hour to the music store where he worked, or try to get a cab during rush hour. Boyd opted to walk to the music store and see if Dallon could drive him home. He sighed and started walking north to the music store.

 

* * *

 

Less than an hour later, by haphazardly cutting through stopped traffic and alleyways, Boyd reached the music store but the silver sedan wasn’t parked in the same place as before. _‘Fuck.’_

 **‘Further down,’** the voice said.

Boyd sighed and walked further down the street. Sure enough, the silver sedan was stuck in traffic at the third stoplight down. Groaning, Boyd speed walked forward and cut in front of a few other cars and knocked on Dallon’s window.

“What the hell?!” Dallon yelled, rolling down the window.

“Can you give me a ride?” Boyd asked sweetly.

Dallon silently groaned, gently hit his head on the steering wheel and unlocked the car.

“Thanks!” Boyd exclaimed, opening the back door with one hand and threw in his bags, stepping into the car and closing the door. He sat quietly and stared at the rearview mirror innocently.

Dallon glanced back and-and didn’t ask any questions about the five bags of clothes or what he did while Dallon was working. The less he knew the better and the happier he would be.

 

* * *

 **1734**  


 

On the ride back Dallon played old school jazz and some other genre of music that Boyd didn’t bother to ask about, but it wasn’t half bad, it would’ve taken much longer if Boyd had chosen to walk. All in all, it took about half an hour to get from the music store to Dallon’s apartment. The moment the door opened, Boyd pushed past Dallon and dropped his bags on the floor and plopped down on the couch, sighing in content.   
“I’m going to assume you spent the majority of the day shopping,” Dallon said, picking up the bags.

“Believe what you want,” was Boyd’s simple response.

Dallon hummed and carried the bags into the guest room.

Boyd stood up and followed the other. “You letting me stay in the guest room?”

“I’m not that cruel.”  
“You’re really not, you’re soft and cuddly and adorable,” Boyd teased. Dallon grabbed on of Boyd’s new shirts from a bag and threw it at Boyd’s face. Boyd laughed as he caught the falling shirt. “I almost forgot,” Boyd pulled out the black box from his pocket and handed it to Dallon.

“Are you proposing?” Dallon asked.

“No, just open it!” Boyd yelled.

Dallon huffed and opened the box. “A watch.”  
“Yes, how observant of you, it’s a watch,” Boyd said sarcastically.

“Why?”  
Boyd shrugged. “Payment for letting me stay, I guess?”

A small smile made it’s way to Dallon’s face. “Thanks.”

Boyd nodded and shooed Dallon out of his new room for a month. First thing he did was clean out the existing closet’s clothes and replace them with his own, pulling out old, plain shirts and jeans that Boyd probably didn’t want to know who they belonged to.

 

There weren't much of the old clothes so Boyd was able to shove his stuff in and get finished relatively quickly. Boyd knew he should’ve probably washed the clothes first, but he already put them away and didn’t bother to take them out again. He took off the clothes he stole from Dallon but opted to keep the hoodie and placed the shirt and jeans on the couch outside before turning to the bathroom to take a shower then sleep on the small bed in the guest room that Dallon, oh so gratefully lent him.

 

* * *

  **Friday, February Third, 0721**

**Dallon**

 

The next morning, Dallon woke up feeling a bit more refreshed than usual. It was a Friday so that was partially the reason, but today was also the monthly movie “date” with Tyler and Josh, where in reality, Joshler (a nickname that Dallon came up with and was proud of) does all the dating while Dallon awkwardly third-wheels unless they pull him into their weird shenanigans and he tries to make sure the two don’t somehow manage to kill themselves. In some cases, Dallon really is their metaphorical and literal dad.

 

Dallon sat up in his bed and stretched, looking over to the clock. Seven twenty-one. Three hours and thirty-nine minutes until his shift starts, but he could be a little late. He took a deep breath and got out of bed, noticing the open black box and the silver watch lying inside it. He stared at the watch for a few seconds before grabbing it out of the box, inspecting it closer. New, obviously, smooth sterling silver case and band, with a black face, and bold white numbers. Seemed durable. Dallon slipped the watch on his right hand and closed the clasp. Perfect fit.

 

* * *

  **Same day, 0734**

 

“Dallon!” Tyler yelled when they were within range, Josh stood behind him.

Dallon waved.

They met up at their usual theater, the Eclipse Theatre downtown and stood outside. “So what are we going to watch?” Dallon asked.

Josh and Tyler shrugged.

Dallon brought his hand up and ran it through his hair, sighing. His sleeve fell a little showing the watch.   
“Nice watch. Shiny,” Josh noticed and pointed out.

Dallon hummed and examined the watch. “Yeah, I guess.”  
“Must have been expensive,” Tyler said, taking Dallon’s arm, staring at the watch.

“I wouldn’t know, I didn’t buy it,” Dallon told them, following them into the ticket box.

Tyler ‘ooohhhed.’ “Who bought it?”

“The psycho that was at the store yesterday,” Dallon said.

Josh laughed and slapped Dallon on the back. “Our dad’s got himself a sugar daddy!” He joked.

“Shut your damn mouth!” Dallon yelled, blushing from embarrassment.

A few people looked at them for a moment before turning back to what they were doing.

The duo grinned and Dallon glared at them.

Tyler gave a small smile and spoke up. “It's nice. Silver suits you.”

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the watch that Boyd got for Dal.  
> https://www.specialopswatch.com/products-page/cobras/black-cobra/?gclid=Cj0KEQiA_KvEBRCtzNil4-KR-LIBEiQAmgekF1VfrUoXGc7aT4Lp19T9AcqV8nv-XS414JHFo7vyOpYaAqBo8P8HAQ  
> https://legionwatches.com/products/military-grade-tactical-watch?variant=32254959363
> 
> If you look up "Brendon Urie sparkly suit" you'll find the gold suit I'm talking about. I also said "fuck it" and made the store Boyd went into Macy's. I didn't say the store name because I didn't know how to implement store names in the story.
> 
> I had to include another chapter with Joshler because I love the pairing, they're adorable and I'm going to include them some more in later chapters. (No I'm not killing them off, I swear) 
> 
> If you're curious, the name of the music store Dal, Tyjo and Jersh work at is Sam Ash Music Store. (It's not Guitar Center. I planned on it being Guitar Center, then I searched it up on Google Maps and it would've taken like an hour or so (maybe less) for Boyd to run from the casino to Dal.)
> 
> I know nothing about what color "fits" the most with a certain type of person, so I wouldn't know if silver really does suit Dal, I just like the color. 
> 
> I'll try to include more names of the areas I mention so you can search them up if you guys want to ^-^


	6. Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this is one of the more boring chapters of the story so far, but then again there might be more boring parts? Perfectly acceptable if you skip this chapter, I'll just add a summary in the end notes

**February Third, Friday, 0700.**

**Kenny**

 

The night before, Kenny called in a search of the Grand Canyon for the next morning. Before they went to the airport, they visited Sarah again to ask exactly  _ where  _ Brendon dumped the bodies, since the canyon isn't exactly small. She had thought for a moment and said: “the north end, before the lake.”

  
  


The two made it to the airport just in time. Three helicopters were waiting with three different teams. “You ready?” The lead investigator of the Vegas FBI asked, holding out two headsets. He had a badge on his uniform that read “Gesh.”

“Yes, sir,” Zack replied. 

“Alright, so when we fly over the north end, we're dropping you down. The grappling hooks are secure, so no need to worry. We got a forensics team setting up there right now, and they're going down with us when we get there,” he explained. 

Zack and Kenny nodded. 

 

* * *

 

**0750**

 

During the flight, Kenny thought about options, Brendon’s MO, his cause, everything else. Sarah was more than willing to tell them what happened, but he knew they couldn't rely on her too much. She was in a psychiatric hospital after all. No doubt Brendon’s influence on her landed her there. 

 

Half way there Kenny decided research Spencer Smith and Jon Walker. Like Ryan, nothing bad on them, only one or two misdemeanors, and was filled as missing shortly before Sarah got put into the psychiatric hospital. Kenny just didn't understand  _ why _ Sarah had to investigate them. Were they involved with Brendon or Ryan? Were they witnesses, suspects or just in the wrong place at the wrong time? He sighed and dragged his hands down his face. 

Zack looked over and gave him a worried look. 

Kenny gave a small reassuring smile. 

 

* * *

 

**0800**

 

The grapple down to the bottom of the canyon wasn't bad, it was like a zip line, except you're not going horizontally, you're going straight down. “Hey, nice to meet you, I'm the head forensics guy, Dexter Alban,” a tall guy with a lab coat held out his hand for Kenny and Zack who accepted the handshake. Judging by the look on Zack’s face, he wasn't the only one to think of Dexter from the TV show, ‘Dexter.’

“Nice to meet you,” Zack started. “Find anything yet?” 

“We found some rocks that look like they broke off by something heavy, so we'll start there. One of my guys found a piece of a plastic garbage bag, but it could come from anywhere. They're checking it out as we speak,” Dexter told them. 

Zack nodded. “Kenny, you want to join the search or investigate on your own?”

“I'll join you guys for a bit,” Kenny told him. 

Zack nodded. “Well, you do your thing.”

 

* * *

 

**0820**

 

Kenny spent twenty or so minutes to think by himself, away from the squads and away from the heat of the sun. He sat under a small underpass with his elbows on his knees and head in his hands, thinking, blocking out all other sounds and surroundings. The rocks that would have broken off when bodies - or anything heavy enough that would break off chunks of rock from the side of a canyon. Also judging in gravity, the slope of the fall, and bounce, the bodies could’ve landed anywhere from the bottom of the side closest to the drop off point, the other side, or was in a totally different section. Erosion also played a part in this, wearing away the rock formations and covering anything that might’ve existed previously on the surface of dirt and sand or wash it away completely. 

 

Kenny groaned loudly and stood up, ducking to avoid hitting his head and walked over to the area where there was the most foot-traffic for the investigation, scanning the ground for any abnormalities other than the packed down reddish dirt from all the people stepping around. 

 

Twenty years. Twenty years for nature to do it’s magic, hiding anything that might’ve been misplaced, such as a corpse. Dexter said he and his crew found a piece of a black trash bag. Must have gotten torn up on the fall down. While everyone else was looking closer to the edge of the broken rocks, Kenny decided to take to the opposite side, kicking up some of the dirt in random hopes to find something,  _ anything _ . Kenny’s mind was faltering, from the heat, lack of sleep, food, water, or just stress. He started kicking up more dirt along a small pile of rocks and Zack walked over to Kenny, cold water bottles in hand. 

“Think of anything?” Zack asked, handing him one of the water bottles. 

“Not really. Science is stupid. Nature can go fuck itself,” Kenny grunted, kicking over a rock and took a swig from the water bottle. 

Zack chuckled. “You were always the brains in this partnership, you’ll figure something out. Dexter said there was dried blood on the piece of the bag, so something’s here.”

Kenny hummed, kneeling down and flipped over some more rocks, brushing some loose dirt off the ground. 

Zack didn't question the other and started helping him, pushing dry dirt off the section that was under the rocks. 

 

Soon enough, the two came across something, a large black bag. Kenny huffed out a laugh. “Well fuck me. You pull them out, I'll get the others!” Kenny ordered, running off to Gesh and Dexter, conversing under a small tent. Dexter noticed Kenny and stepped out from under the shade. “Find something?” He asked. 

Kenny nodded, stopping a few feet away from Dexter. Gesh walked up and stood next to Dexter.

“Zack and I found a black bag,” Kenny pointed over to where Zack was digging up the bags with his hands. Not the most efficient way, but it worked. 

“Nice job, boys,” Gesh complemented, going to gather some more guys. 

Kenny lead Dexter over to Zack who managed to dig out the majority of the bag and stood up when the teen came over, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his arm. 

“You want to do the honors?” Dexter asked, handing Kenny a Swiss army knife and a pair of blue latex gloves. 

“You sure?” Kenny hesitantly put on the gloves and took the knife. 

Dexter nodded and smiled. 

“Dude, you're the person that deserves the joy of uncovering the bodies the most, now cut that shit up!” Zack lightly pushed Kenny forward. 

Kenny nodded and kneeled down, flipped open the knife and pinched a small section of the bag, cutting open the bag. Sure enough, there was a body, all in its rotten, maggot infested glory. Kenny gagged and stepped back, covering his nose and mouth with his arm. 

Dexter coughed. “Yep, that's that's a body.”

Zack huffed. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“No problem, Sargent Sarcasm,” Dexter fired back. 

Zack opened his mouth to retort but Gesh came back with more people. “Nice going, I'll be sure to report this to the head, you two’ll the get credit,” Gesh said. 

Zack blinked. “Are you sure? You helped!” 

Gesh nodded. “All we did was bring you two here, you were the ones that found the bodies.”

Kenny couldn't help but feel suspicious. Usually, any government official would jump at the chance to take credit from others, but he said nothing. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

**0740**

**Boyd**

  
  


After a boring amount of time, Boyd started getting antsy and started looking for his bloodied white suit jacket he wore the first day -night?- he met Dallon. He turned into the bathroom and glanced around. Nothing. He huffed and walked to Dallon’s room, jiggling the door knob. Locked once again. Boyd took out one of his lock picks and made quick work of the lock, opening the door and stepped inside. Sure enough, the jacket was draped over a wooden chair in front of the makeup desk. He walked over to it and picked up the jacket, searching the inside pockets. He found one of his other wallets and spare knife along with his almost dead cell phone, but his gun was gone. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped, Kenny and Zack basically go dig up some motherfuckin' bones in the bottom of the Grand Canyon and Boyd finds that his gun is missing.
> 
> So I went through the last few chapters and added time and date stamps because I was afraid people would get confused with the timeline continually switching from time to time so yeah. I may have added more than needed, but I just wanted to so please excuse the absurd amount of time stamps. 
> 
> I also use military/24 hour times. If you don't know how to convert it to 12 hour time, subtract the number that's higher than 12 by 12, so like 1653, subtract 16 by 12. So it's 4:53 ^-^


	7. Roses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By far my longest chapter at 2100 words, there's going to be an explanation at the end notes, you might need them, you might not.

**Friday, February Third, 0746**

**Boyd**

 

Boyd gathered his things and set the jacket back down on the chair before exiting and locking Dallon’s room.

 

He could confront Dallon about it after or during his shift, but first, he had to buy some food. He hadn’t really eaten in the few days he spent with the other man, so Boyd was about ready to croak if he didn’t eat something soon. Boyd quickly went into his room and plugged in his phone with one of the multiple chargers in one of the drawers. He swiftly changed into something more acceptable for outdoors and took his balisong, gloves and watch from his shirt drawer and left the apartment.

 

* * *

  


Boyd made his way to the nearest Chipotle which was half an hour's walk away and ordered the biggest thing they had. He had filled his wallet with money the night before, hiding the stash inside the hollowed out mattress frame. He gave the cashier a twenty and took his food, leaving the change. Boyd was essentially a millionaire, so change was unnecessary, learning the easy way that people pay good money to see someone they hate killed.

  


He spent the next two hours aimlessly wandering around the streets and eating his Chipotle, admiring the scenery. Boyd threw away his trash and ran around the back to reach an unfinished apartment complex, and climbed the ladder that his client said would be there. He reached the third floor and climbed through the open window at the top, reaching what seemed to be a living room covered in plastic sheets, with a poncho in the center of the room. He put on his gloves and the poncho, glancing at his watch, 10:20. Five more minutes, and the target would be there.

  


The next five minutes were spent making sure that the area was safe and secure, taping the plastic sheets together to make it airtight. It would be tragic if blood leaked through. Boyd heard footsteps from outside, and Boyd slammed his foot down on the ground.

The footsteps stopped, before continuing up and stopped outside the room door.

Boyd quickly and silently walked over to the right side of the door and flipped open his knife.

**‘Shred him.’**

Boyd’s adrenaline started spiking and he controlled his breathing as the doorknob turned slowly. The target slowly pushed open the door and stepped in, unaware of Boyd who was behind the door. The target was immediately suspicious about all the plastic sheeting and walked further into the room, Boyd silently followed further behind, raising the silver knife.

**‘Now!’**

The knife was plunged into the target's neck, and the scream that followed was muffled by Boyd’s hand covering his mouth. Boyd let out a happy and shaky exhale. He pulled out the knife and slashed the target's cheek. “You know why I'm doing this?” Boyd asked, uncovering the man's mouth.

The man let out a choking sound as blood pooled out of his neck.

“It's because you're a sick fuck that can't keep it in your pants,” Boyd whispered, raising his knife once more, bringing it down into the man's heart.

The man stilled shortly after and Boyd removed his knife from the man’s chest. A shiver ran down Boyd’s spine and he cleaned off his knife on a clean unbloodied part of the man’s shirt before taking off the poncho and dropped it on top of the body, then took the man’s “silver” wedding band.

 

Boyd took his time tearing down the plastic sheets, using them to tightly wrap up the body. He made sure nothing would leak before dragging the wrapped body downstairs to the back, throwing the body in a large dumpster. He got another taxi to the nearest Starbucks half an hour away, ordered two generic white girl drinks. He spotted the client a few tables away and walked up to her, taking the ring out of his pocket, and placed it on the table. The woman looked up. “You did it,” she sounded surprised.

Boyd sat down in the seat in front of her. “Was there any doubt?”  
She smiled and huffed a laugh. “I guess not.” She took a blue check out from her pocket wallet and handed it to Boyd.

Twenty thousand, made to Ryan Ross, for 'painting.' Boyd smiled. “Thank you for your service.”

She nodded and continued drinking her coffee, acting like nothing happened.

Boyd got up from the chair and went over to the counter to pick up the drinks.

 

He started making his way over to the music store, but not before passing a large, well cared rose bush in front of a flower shop. He stopped and reached out a hand to touch one of the large blood red roses. An old lady came out of the shop and smiled at him. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She asked, watering some of the other flowers.

“Yeah, they are,” Brendon agreed, withdrawing his hand.

“Do you know what roses stand for?” She asked, turning to Boyd.

“They stand for love right?” Boyd asked.

The old woman nodded. “Red stands for sacrifice, true and immortal love. It’s also been used as a religious symbol.  Orange means enthusiasm, passion. Yellow is for friendship, joy and good health. Pink means gratitude, and white is purity, innocence. Purple means love at first sight, enchantment,” the old lady explained.

“I didn’t know there were so many meanings for a rose,” Boyd said, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled. “That’s the joy of nature, dear, to find out all the secret meanings of things, to enjoy all the beauty.”   
Boyd nodded.   
The old woman took a pair of clippers and cut the stem of the largest rose and handed it to Boyd. “Here you go. I can tell you have someone special in your life,” she said.   
“I-I can’t, it’s yours.”   
“And I’m giving it to you.”

Boyd looked at the rose and took it from the woman’s hands, careful of the thorns. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Pass along the gratitude for me, will you?”

**‘She’s dying.’**

Boyd hesitated and nodded. “Of course.”

  
  


* * *

**1115**

  


Boyd had hailed a taxi further down on the intersection and arrived at Sam Ash Music Store - where Dallon worked, - roughly fifteen minutes later. Boyd paid the twenty-four dollar fare and exited the cab, drinks in hand. He opened the doors and walked through, seeing Tyler at the counter again. Tyler looked up as he heard Boyd walk in and smiled. “Welcome back! I didn’t get your name the first time you were here, I’m Tyler,” he introduced. Faint sounds of the drums being played were heard.

Boyd gave a fake smile. “I know.”  
Tyler faltered. “W-how?”

“Nametag.”

Tyler nervously laughed and looked down at the silver name tag. “Oh right, I forget that’s there sometimes.”

**‘Tell him.’**

“I’m Brendon.”

“Well nice to officially meet you! You want me to get Dallon?” Tyler asked.

“Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” Boyd said, setting one of the drinks and the rose on the glass counter and waited as Tyler hurried out into one of the back rooms to get Dallon.

  


* * *

**Dallon**

 

Tyler knocked on the closed door and let himself into the practice room where Dallon was teaching someone to play bass.

“Hey Dal, Brendon wanted me to come get you,” Tyler said quietly, apologetic for interrupting.

Dallon blinked. “Who?”

“Uh, the psycho?” Tyler chuckled nervously. The person Dallon was teaching seemed slightly confused but didn’t say anything.

 _‘Boyd.’_ “Oh, right. Yeah, tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Dallon told Tyler.

Tyler nodded and slipped out of the room and back to the main area.

  


Dallon finished his hour-long lesson with his student, Jonathan, who was learning quite nicely. After Jonathan left the practice room, Dallon put away the bass, picks, stands and sheet music they used before he went out to see ’Brendon.’ Is it his real name? Probably not, but better and more normal than ‘Boyd.’

Dallon walked out to the main area and saw Brendon flipping through some magazines with a frappuccino in hand. “You call, _Brendon_?” Dallon asked, using the same tone that Brendon used when he first said Dallon’s name.

Brendon turned around and smiled. “Why yes, I did.”  
“Why are you here?”

Brendon looked around, making sure no one was around. Tyler had disappeared somewhere when Brendon was trying not to stick out. “Where’s my gun?” Brendon asked in a low voice.

Dallon raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m going to let _you_ have a gun in my house?”

Brendon scoffed. _‘Of course.’_ “Fine, whatever, keep it. Just don’t shoot me.”   
“I won’t have a reason to unless you bring your “job” into my life, or threaten me in any way, deal?” Dallon proposed.

Brendon sighed and nodded. “Fine.”

Dallon gave a small smile. “Good.”  
“Honestly, is it just you and Tyler working here?” Brendon asked.

“No, Tyler, his best friend and I are the ones that take the most shifts because Tyler’s brother is the owner, the others are part-timers, usually high schoolers.

Brendon made a noise of understanding and decided not to question it anymore. “I see.”  
“Is Brendon even your real name?” Dallon decided to ask him.

The other nodded, walking over to the glass cases. “Yep. Fitting how Tyler was the one who told us both our first names.”

“I guess,” Dallon stated, fixing up the magazines.

Brendon came back with another frappuccino and a rose in his hand. “Gift,” he simply said. Dallon eyed the drink and Brendon rolled his eyes. “It’s not poisoned.” _‘I know you’re going to take it, you’re wearing the watch, after all.’_

“Thanks…” Dallon tentatively took the drink.

Brendon seemed content and smiled. “You’re very welcome, Dallon. See you later, I gotta go buy an Xbox,” Brendon walked to the exit and waved before exiting the store.

Dallon stopped fixing the magazine rack and stared at the two items in his hand. He placed them on the glass counter as Josh and Tyler came running out of the warehouse.

“Was it Brendon that got you the watch?” Josh asked, leaning on the case.

Dallon slowly nodded, wondering what the two were up to.

Tyler vaulted over the glass case and Dallon was about to scold him, but Tyler spoke first. “He seems nice. You two would be great for each other.”

If Dallon was drinking something he would’ve spit it out. “What the hell makes you say that?”   
Josh spoke up. “Well he’s come here twice to see you, he got you Starbucks and a watch, you know how expensive those are?”

Dallon cocked his head to the side. “Are you talking about the Starbucks or the watch?”  
“Both,” Josh replied, sliding lower on the floor, to where his only head was head was above the case.   
“I looked up how much the watch costs online, it’s a thousand dollars,” Tyler said.

Dallon tried not to act surprised, since it was most definitely bought with blood money. “Really?”

Tyler nodded, glancing over to Josh, who had his tongue sticking out a bit, and was leaning forward with grabby hands towards the frappuccino. Dallon noticed and swiped the drink before Josh could get any closer. Josh whined and pouted; Tyler reached over the glass case and patted Josh’s head.

_‘It was a gift. Just a gift. Right?’_

  


* * *

**1215**

**Brendon**

 

Brendon walked thirty minutes to Best Buy, going on his word on the Xbox, getting extra games, and controllers with rechargeable batteries. He paid for the items and left the store.  

 

Ten minutes of walking down the street trying to get a taxi, and Brendon was wishing he had his phone. Uber would’ve been so much easier and better.

 

Brendon finally managed to get another cab and reached Dallon’s apartment. He paid the fare and walked up the stairs to his door, placed the bags on the ground and started picking the lock. Less than a minute later, Brendon was in. He set everything down and ran into his room, getting his phone and played the news while setting up the Xbox. “Reports say that the murder of Travis Morkal was found a couple days ago, at the Guardian Angel Cathedral. Investigators have found a pentagram under the stand, and suspect that the murder was either something for a cult, or a result of the Vegas Angel of Death, or ‘The Emperor.’

**“I like Emperor better, don’t you? Take back the crown. It’s yours, after all, it’s always been.”**

Brendon stopped the news video and looked behind him. There he was in an armchair. The eye makeup, and the red vest of roses, just like the day he died. “Ryan.”

Ryan leaned back in the chair and smiled. **“Surprised?”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO YEAH RYAN. Long story short, Ryan is still dead, he's just there because Bren's essentially haunted by Ryan (the bolded voice with the ', but now quotations) I'll try to explain it a little better in the next chapter
> 
> I slapped a bunch of stuff about roses in this because I like symbolism, and because I like including little teasers in the titles about the chapter. (And the old lady is dying)


	8. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take some time to tell all you reading that I love you, I know it's not the best thing in the world, but still, thank you to those that have stuck with me, love you all <3

**Friday, February Third, 1220**

**Brendon**

 

“You’re dead,” Brendon whispered.

The expression on Ryan’s face darkened.  **“Yeah, no fucking shit. You were the one who killed me, or did you forget?”**

“Why would you think that?” Brendon asked, standing up. 

Ryan let out a small laugh.  **“Just fucking with you. After all,** **_no one_ ** **forgets their first kill. Isn’t that right, Brendon?”** Ryan got up from the armchair, walking up to Brendon.

“You made me this,” Brendon’s tone was sinister.

**“True, but** **_you_ ** **were the one who embraced it. I might’ve taught you how to kill, but you accepted it,”** Ryan reached out to touch Brendon’s face but the other stepped back. 

“And  _ you _ were the one who passed your darkness onto me.”

**“Ouch, such accusations hurt my heart,”** Ryan laughed and Brendon scowled.  **“But you know deep down that I** **_am_ ** **your darkness, right? That I’m not real, that I’m a part of your mind, that I’m a part of** **_you_ ** .”

“You haven’t shown your fugly face in years, why now?” Brendon pretended not to notice the feigned hurt that showed in Ryan’s face. 

Ryan hummed.  **“Perhaps it’s because you see a bit of me in your new roomie.”**

Brendon’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t compare him with your pathetic ass.”

Ryan actually seemed surprised for a moment before returning to a neutral expression.  **“You say that, but you’re already trying to get him to like you, so he won’t betray you, like Sarah.”**

“That’s because Sarah was a Fed.”   
**“Regardless, she still betrayed you. You think Dallon would do that to you?”** Ryan grinned sinisterly. 

“You shut your fucking face before I smash your face in,” Brendon growled. 

Ryan let out a dry laugh.  **“Good fuckin’ luck with that, I’m dead remember? Your bitch ass killed me.”**

“You don’t need to remind me.”

**“I see. You’re haunted by my death.”**

“Where the fuck did you get that?” 

**“I’m still around, aren’t I? You wouldn’t be having hallucinations of me if you weren’t haunted by me.”**

“Fuck you.”

**“I wish I could,”** Ryan smirked.

“Fuck off, I’m done with you,” Brendon growled.

**“If that’s the case, then why do you continue listening to my advice?”** Ryan asked. 

“Fuck you,” Brendon repeated since he couldn’t come up with anything witty.    
**“Real creative, Bren,”** Ryan said and disappeared. 

Brendon sighed and went back to setting up his Xbox.

 

* * *

**1220**

**Dallon**

 

“Hey dad,” Josh started.

Dallon hummed a response.

“Tyler said you can take a break for a few days, Ryan already said he could take a few extra shifts,” Josh told Dallon. 

“You sure?” Dallon asked.

Josh nodded. “I know you have that part time job at that casino during weekends, wouldn’t want to being too tired.”

Dallon chuckled. “I’m already nocturnal and always perpetually tired, I don’t mind taking the shifts.”   
Tyler came out of one of the practice rooms with the person he was teaching piano to. “I insist that you take the rest of the day off.”   
“I’m not getting a say in this am I?” Dallon wondered.

Josh and Tyler shook their heads. “Take the rest of the day off, or I’ll lock you out,” Tyler said, smiling sweetly. 

Dallon put his arms up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave,” Dallon sighed. 

Josh gave the taller man a thumbs up and pointed to the door. “Have fun doing whatever.”   
Dallon childishly stuck out his tongue and left the store with a wave, feeling slightly dejected.

  
  


Dallon took the scenic route home, deciding to stop by Bonanza Gift Shop to randomly get something for Brendon. If he wanted to give Dallon pointless gifts, then two could play at that game. He walked into the store and looked around the aisles. He reached an aisle with stuffed animals and encountered an adorable stuffed smiling shark. Immediately, Dallon knew that the shark was the one. He picked up the shark and walked it to the counter, paid for it, and left the store to his apartment. 

  
  


* * *

**1215**

**Brendon**

 

**“He’s coming,”** Ryan appeared next to Brendon on Dallon’s couch as he was playing Grand Theft Auto. 

The front door opened and Dallon stepped through the doorway, having a duck a little. “Catch the shark,” Dallon said, tossing the shark plush over to Brendon.    
Brendon held the red controller in his left hand and caught the shark with his right. “Thanks?” Brendon said, studying the shark. “I’m going to name him Spencer.”

Ryan laughed.  **“Feeling remorse? How cute.”**   
Dallon hummed a response and glanced over at the mess of plastic and boxes on his floor and the video game Brendon was playing. “I hope you’re going to clean up after yourself.”   
“Of course I am! Just after a few hours,” Brendon lied. He knew he wasn’t going to touch the mess as long as he had his hands on a controller. 

“Right. Well, I’m going to take a shower, don’t burn down my house,” Dallon told the other, moving towards his room.

“I would never!” Brendon insisted. 

**“That’s bullshit, you would burn the world down in a heartbeat.”**

_ ‘Shut the fuck up.”  _

Ryan frowned.  **“Well fuck you too.”**

Brendon rolled his eyes and set Spencer the Shark down on his lap and continued the game. 

Ryan leaned back on the couch and watched with a bored expression, occasionally glancing over to Brendon who pretended not to know.  _ ‘He’s planning something,’  _ Brendon thought.

Ryan looked offended.  **‘I’m not, how dare you think that.’**

_ ‘Eat shit.’ _

Ryan narrowed his eyes, smirked, and snapped his fingers. 

Brendon froze. The controller fell from his hands onto the floor. Blood pooled on the ground and there was broken glass everywhere, from beer bottles or otherwise, and the television was broken, a huge web of cracks covered the screen. Ryan was gone, and Brendon’s hands were covered with blood. He let out a shuddery breath and stood up. He followed a trail of blood to his room and stopped. More blood everywhere, on the bed, walls, ceiling and windows. There was a lump on the bed, and Brendon walked towards it, took a breath, and pulled back the sheets. Brendon almost screamed. Dallon was lying on his bed, completely shredded, like Ryan. Dallon’s face almost seemed peaceful, like he was just lying there, not bloody and dead. Deep and long cuts were littered all over his body. Some have stopped bleeding, but a lot of blood was still pouring out of the other wounds. 

Ryan showed up again, sat down on the bed and placed his hand on Dallon’s head.  **“You listening now? You know this is going to happen sooner or later, but you’re going to take the risk anyway, because you actually like him,”** Ryan let out a dry laugh.  **“You want to take the chance?”** Ryan looked up at Brendon. The bloody scene faded out around him, and Brendon sat down on his bed, feeling sick. Ryan disappeared again, and Dallon knocked on his door.

“You alright?” Dallon asked.    
Brendon nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

**‘He’s not going to believe you.’**

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just ate too much.”

Dallon nodded but knew something was off but decided not to push. After all, the less he knew, the better. 

 

Brendon was relieved when Dallon left his room. Because of Ryan  —  no, because  _ his  _ dumbass mind decided to traumatize him. He took a deep breath and lie down on the bed, running his hands down his face. “Fuck you, Ryan,” Brendon muttered to no one in particular. 

**‘Good to know you care.’**

_ ‘Eat shit.’ _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO HALLUCINATIONS AND SHITTY WRITING!!! Again, Ryan is dead, and Brendon is seeing all this in his mind, Dallon CAN'T see it.


	9. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHHAHAHAHH I'M BACK AFTER LIKE 5 MONTHS. I decided I've procrastinated long enough (and because of guilt) I forced myself to finish this chapter. It might be pretty boring, it's a filler, but it might contain some important information. (I don't know, I haven't looked through half of this since I... took a break... for like 5 months...

**1700**

 

Brendon had decided that he had moped around long enough and got out of his room. His Xbox was still on but the TV was off. Dallon was in the kitchen, looking into the refrigerator. “Let’s go out,” Brendon blurted out. 

Dallon looked surprised. “What?”

“Uh, let’s go get dinner?” Brendon asked, mentally kicking himself in the balls repeatedly. 

“Where? Rush hour is a thing that exists, you know.”

**‘Oh, he’s going to agree.** **_He likes you_ ** **.’**

_ ‘Shut it.’ _

“I know a place, it’s a twenty-minute drive.”

Dallon thought for a second. Every second that passed made Brendon more and more anxious. “Sure. I have nothing to eat here. Where is it?”

Brendon perked up, grinning. “Great! It’s the Stratosphere.”

Dallon paused. “The Stratosphere? The place where you killed the owner?” 

“Admittedly, yes.”   
“Care telling why?”   
“Julio?” Brendon asked. Dallon nodded. “He’s not the actual owner, the real owner hired me to kill him.”   
“Why’s that?” Dallon knew he was ignoring the ‘less I know the better’ principle.

“Got caught stealing money from the casino. And now the owner owes me two favors. I’ll cash one in for dinner,” Brendon said. 

“You sure you want to waste a favor on me?” Dallon asked.

Brendon nodded. 

“Wait.” Dallon started. “Is that why there was no security evidence of you?”   
Brendon nodded again. “Let’s go, change out to something fancier, it’s not a t-shirt place,” he lightly pushed Dallon to the general area of his room. 

  
\-----  
  
  


Brendon quickly changed into a white button-up with a black tie and vest and called the owner to clear the fanciest area he had, and waited for Dallon. 

**“Preparing for a date with the bae?”** Ryan asked, poofing out of thin air, appearing next to Brendon.

“You say ‘bae’ again and I’ll kill you deader,” Brendon muttered. 

Ryan frowned and stuck out his tongue before disappearing again. 

 

Dallon came out of his room looking mildly annoyed. Brendon looked up as Dallon walked past him and Brendon was surprised. He was dressed in a black dress shirt, tie, and pants. 

**‘Oh, a fine piece of ass indeed,’** Ryan laughed.

_ ‘Can you not?’ _

**‘It’s true and you know it.’**

“You ready?” Dallon asked, adjusting his tie. 

Brendon nodded and followed Dallon out the door.

  
  


\-----

 

**1730**

 

They reached the Stratosphere and got out of the car, which Dallon had parked in the employee’s section. Brendon being Brendon, pointed it out. 

Dallon just stared at Brendon. “I work here,” he said simply.

“Oh, I see,” Brendon said.

Dallon nodded and got out of the car while Brendon did the same. 

 

Brendon lead Dallon into the elevators and up to the top floor, where they were greeted by a bunch of angry guests, mobbing the receptionist who was trying to keep them under control. 

“Did you cause this?” Dallon asked.

Brendon winced. “Probably.”

“I think we should leave, let them in,” Dallon suggested, glancing over at Brendon, who seemed emotionless. 

“No. I invited you to fucking dinner, and we’re going to get fucking dinner,” Brendon said, grabbing Dallon’s forearm and dragged him into the crowd, pushing through the people and stopped in front of the receptionist, exchanging a few words that Dallon couldn’t hear. The receptionist quickly opened the door for the two to slip through before closing it again, and the sounds of the infuriated crowd outside were drowned out. 

Brendon let go of Dallon’s arm and watched as Dallon seemed hypnotized by the view of the Vegas skyline. Brendon let out a small chuckle and sat down at the table that was prepared for them. “I thought you work here.”   
Dallon peered over to Brendon before staring out the large glass windows. “I do, I work as one of the people handling the casino, downstairs. I never go to the upper floors,” Dallon explained.

Brendon hummed a response. “Sit. Food.”

Dallon turned his attention to Brendon and the table for two, all set with a rose centerpiece, fancy folded napkins in wine glasses, crisp white tablecloth and intricate menus. Dallon stepped away from the windows and sat down in the seat, the opposite of Brendon’s, and opened the menu, and was instantly taken back with the large prices for the food. 

Brendon noticed and smiled fondly. “It’s in the house, don’t worry.” 

“I’ll worry since it’s your blood money,” Dallon said, flipping through the menu.

**“He’s not complaining about it though.** ** _You’ve got him on the hook,”_** Ryan appeared next to Dallon, studying his face.

_ ‘You’d best shut your fuckhole.’ _

“You find anything?” Brendon asked as he saw the waiter approaching them.

Dallon clicked his tongue.

The waiter stopped on the right side of their table. “Anything to drink?” 

Brendon spoke first. “I’ll have the  Riesling, Schloss Saarstein, Saar.”   
The waiter nodded and waited for Dallon’s response.

“I-I don’t drink,” Dallon fumbled over his words. 

The waiter nodded again. “I’ll be back with your drink.”

Dallon gave Brendon a confused look. “Chronic drinker?” 

“Ha ha, no. I come here often. Everything’s free for me,” Brendon explained. 

“Of course it is.” 

Ryan looked over to Brendon and smiled.  **“How cute, practically a couple already.”**

_ ‘Eat shit.’  _

Ryan frowned.  **“How sad.”** Ryan looked back at Dallon who was still flipping through the menu. Ryan sighed.  **“You know, he is pretty.”**

Brendon tried not to scowl.  _ ‘Fuck off and leave us alone.’ _

Ryan sighed exasperated and slammed the table, but Dallon didn’t see or hear anything.  **“We used to be close, and now look at us; problematic couple number one.”**

_ ‘It’s because you’re a dick, and you’re dead.’ _

Ryan blinked.  **“Right. And who’s fault was that? Oh right, yours,”** Ryan said bitterly. 

Brendon mentally screamed and laughed (mentally) when Ryan flinched and disappeared. 

 

 

The waiter returned with a bottle of unopened wine and Brendon pulled out the napkin in his wine glass. The waiter opened uncorked the bottle and poured about a half glass of whatever Brendon got. “Are you ready to order?” He asked, pulling out a notepad.    
Brendon looked over to Dallon who nodded. “May I get the smoked salmon?” Dallon asked. 

The waiter wrote down the food and looked to Brendon. 

“Colorado rack of lamb please,” Brendon said.    
The waiter nodded, took the menus and left with the orders. 

 

The silence that fell on the two was awkward. Dallon was curious about  _ everything _ , about why Brendon does what he does, and  _ everything _ else, his mind, what he thinks, and more importantly,  _ why _ he’s doing this with Dallon. Is it a manipulation thing? Does he want protection? A safe place to hide out after a kill? All of these things, Dallon doesn’t know, and it’s slowly eating away at him. Still, it’s a nice gesture, this, dinner in an expensive as fuck hotel and casino, with an admittedly stunning view. So instead of starting a conversation like a normal human, Dallon sat quietly, waiting for his food. 

 

Ryan appeared again, this time, kneeling on the ground with his chin resting on the table.  **“All this tension is driving me insane. Start a conversation,”** Ryan said.

Brendon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “So how was your day?” He asked the other. 

**“Jesus fucking christ, really?”** Ryan asked.

_ ‘You said to start a conversation, bitch.’ _

**“Not in that cliche manner.”**

Dallon looked at Brendon with a brow raised. “Fine,” he said simply.

Ryan laughed.  **“Ouch.”**

Brendon just smiled. “That’s good.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan facepalm. 

Dallon nodded, curiosity eating him away like a bug. He asked, “what happened? When you were in your room?”

Brendon seemed surprised.

**“Don't tell him.”**

Brendon sighed. “Anxiety attack.”

Dallon nodded. “I've been there way too many times than I care to admit.”

**“Remember the pills?”** Ryan asked, looking sweetly at Brendon.

_ ‘Can you shut the fuck up?’  _ Brendon asked. “Really? Sorry.”

Dallon shook his head. “Don’t be sorry about something you can’t control.”

The conversation dropped again and Brendon downed his glass of wine. 

The waiter returned shortly with their food and returned hastily, exchanging short nods with Brendon.

 

The rest of the dinner was silent, only breaking it for small segments of small talk so that the two would get to know each other better, and by the end of the dinner, Dallon had forgotten all about Brendon’s darker side, and his killings, and somewhere in Brendon’s mind, Ryan is grinning like a madman. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.stratospherehotel.com/Food-Drink/Top-of-the-World 
> 
> That's the site for the menu of the things Brendon and Dallon ordered.


	10. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RETURNED  
> and then I'll most likely disappear for months...
> 
> oops

**Friday, February Third, 1520**

**Kenny**

 

Kenny and Zack had gotten back to the hotel after spending the morning at the bottom of the canyon and had just received the forensics report from the two skeletons they found. “You ready?” Zack asked, holding his laptop.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kenny sighed.

“Great,” Zack muttered, opening his laptop and went directly to his email. The report was the first thing on the long list of emails from past cases or co-workers being obnoxious, and Zack opened the email. Attached, was a rather lengthy and detailed PDF file about the bones and the people they were when they were still living. Sure enough, the bones belonged to Jon Walker and Spencer Smith, the two people Sarah mentioned when they went to talk to her about Brendon, who's somewhere out there in the world. 

 

The two read up on Jon and Spencer, figuring out that the two of them were in the same high school band as Brendon Urie and Ryan Ross, one who has been missing since 2009, and the other who has been dead since 2009. “Should we go back to talk to Sarah again? We found the bodies, she should know,” Zack asked. 

Kenny nodded. “That would be smart, she deserves to know.”

Zack nodded, checking a text on his phone. “It’s Dan, he says he’s going to come over and help on the case,” he muttered.

“Cool, let’s go,” Kenny grabbed the car keys off the desk and exited the hotel room with Zack following shortly after. 

 

* * *

  
  


The duo reached the Rawson-Neal Psychiatric Hospital. The same receptionist as before sat at the front desk, and smiled as she saw Zack and Kenny walk through the doors. “Need to see Sarah again?” She asked. 

Kenny nodded. “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

She shook her head and lead them back to Sarah’s room, knocked once, and opened the door. 

Sarah looked up from her newspaper and blinked. “You’re back.”

“Yeah, there’s something you might want to know,” Zack said. The receptionist closed the door and left the two in the room with Sarah.

“What is it?” She asked, folding the newspaper back to its original form and set it down on a table. 

Kenny sighed and took the initiative to tell her. “We found the bodies of Jon Walker and Spencer Smith,” he said quietly. 

Sarah was quiet for a moment. “Oh… How did they die?”

“They were shredded, kind of like Ryan,” Zack spoke up. 

Sarah nodded. “Yeah, that’s Brendon. ‘Can’t handle it,’ and handles it by shredding the people who once cared for him, mentally or physically, usually both. I can only pray for the person he’s got caught in his trap now. How do you even know his MO?” Sarah asked. 

Zack stiffened up.

“He killed my parents,” Kenny said monotonously. “I got home one day to see him nearly decapitate my father and say something about getting a large reward for his head. My mom saw the whole thing and he killed her.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah muttered. 

“As long as the motherfucker gets locked up, or dies, I’ll be fine.” 

  
  


“You going to be alright?” Zack asked after they left.

Kenny nodded. “Do we have any more leads?” 

“Last thing the cops saw was a car driving away quickly in the direction the suspect fled. Couldn’t get a read on the plates for some reason, the tape was tampered with, but we’re getting closer,” Zack explained.

Kenny scoffed. “Of course it is.” 

“Yeah, they’re interviewing the one’s on shift that day, it’s by a music store if you want to check it out,” Zack said. 

“Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Kenny stepped out of the car on Maryland Parkway, twenty minutes away from the psychiatric hospital. The building was rather nice, pale beige walls with red highlights. He waved a goodbye to Zack and stepped into the building when the other drove off. He was greeted with a small chime and the faint smell of wood. “Hey! Welcome!” A man with dyed red hair greeted. “You need anything?” 

“I was actually wondering if I could ask you a few questions,” Kenny flashed his badge. He noticed a brief look of confusion on the kid's face. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He stepped around the counter. “What do you need?”

Kenny got out his phone and pulled up a photo of Brendon from age eighteen and showed it to the kid. His nametag read ‘Josh.’ “Have you seen this man?”

“He seems familiar, but I don’t usually work in the main area, you might want to ask Dallon,” Josh said. 

Kenny nodded. “When will he be here?” 

“Tyler let him go home early, he seemed really stressed.”

“I see, will he be here tomorrow?” 

Josh shrugged. “Probably, he’s on call for the Stratosphere quite a bit.”

“That’s alright, call me if he’s here, alright?” Kenny asked, handing Josh one of his cards. 

Josh took the card and nodded. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ey i wrote this when I was super tired after browsing tumblr for ages and yea. I actually have a plan for this so stay tuned?  
> *tap dances away* I'm going to regret thiiiiis, whyyyy am I so darrk


End file.
